


Carousel

by Sinnykins



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 16:28:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinnykins/pseuds/Sinnykins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk fucking loves the carousel at the mall and makes it a point to ride the damn thing every time he visits. That in itself would be bearable, if not for the fact that he drags Dave along every single time. So of course he decides to deal with that reluctance using a little positive reinforcement, in the hopes of changing Dave's opinion towards his favorite attraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carousel

**Author's Note:**

> My first time writing porny things with these two uwu excuse me for any ooc-ness. Dirk is hard to write afkjdsklfj...
> 
> Same-age AU in which they're brothers but it's so pwp that I'm not sure that really matters shRUG...

It wasn’t that Dave Strider hated accompanying his brother to the mall.

 

To be honest, he didn’t really care – if he wasn’t doing something important then he didn’t particularly mind being dragged from his Coolkid Cave and out into the harsh Texan sun. Occasionally he even found himself appreciating the opportunity to get some fresh air and change the scenery around a little.

 

So why did the words, “I would appreciate it if you graced me with your presence on a trip to the mall” inspire dread within the blond? How was that demand, thinly veiled as a “polite request” enough to make him roll his eyes behind his ironic round shades and _almost_ enough to make him groan in reluctance? Simple.

 

Dirk Strider was really fucking weird.

 

Don’t get him wrong, he admired the guy. But anyone who included “puppet loving” in their description really couldn’t lay claim to anything approaching the “normal” label. He supposed having a normal brother would have been infinitely less satisfying, all things considered, and yet he still couldn’t bring himself to look forward to the inevitable embarrassment Dirk would lay on thick after a deceptively pleasant afternoon perusing stores. Hours spent browsing games and electronics, poking fun at the current “in” fashions, chucking pretzel bits at each other in the food court, and sipping frozen lemonades while trying on various shade-and-hat combos would lull him into a false sense of security, the tenderly innocent belief that maybe his brother would finally be content with this level of young teen sibling perfection. Maybe, for once, he could enjoy an outing with Dirk in relative peace. No mindfucking, no tricks, no puppets, no…

 

…god damn carousel.

 

That’s right. The bastard couldn’t visit the mall without taking a ride on the fucking _carousel_ of all things. It’s like he saw that brightly colored spinning piece of shit and just lost all sense of anything considered remotely cool. Pastel ponies reflected in his dumb anime shades, he would drag Dave over, ignoring countless protests and curses; the half-hearted struggling just went completely unnoticed. If it was some sick ironic joke, maybe then he could forgive him on the grounds of their ongoing attempts to leave one another with permanent mental scarring, but damnit, Dirk got pure unironic joy out of sitting perched atop a horse sculpture…going around in lazy circles, gradually wearing away at the careful stoic mask Dave crafted – half to protect his sanity and half because that’s what coolkids did. They did not, however, ride on the carousel when they went to the mall.

 

He just didn’t understand why the hell Dirk felt he had to drag him onto it as well. At least he could laugh off watching his brother make a complete and utter fool of himself, no matter how badly it’d make his face burn in shame.

 

And as if it wasn’t bad enough to be dragged onto the thing and face countless weird looks from the parents standing watch of their children (seeing as all the other riders couldn’t have been older than eight), Dirk was choosing this particular time to make things even more awkward. Upon eventually getting tugged up onto the raised platform, Dave heaved a sigh and begrudgingly picked the nearest horse to hoist himself on, completely disregarding what it looked like; he could not give less of a shit, and he merely wanted to get the thing over with. During previous iterations of this routine when he had refused to get on a horse at all, Dirk had merely made him go around again and again until he finally crumbled. Dave knew better by now, not that it made straddling the garishly painted mound of fiberglass any easier for him.

 

But instead of the usual, with Dirk thoroughly inspecting some horse off to the side before finally giving it his approval…his brother had casually pulled himself up behind Dave. There was no explanation despite his immediate stiffening, the breath he had been in the middle of taking caught somewhere in his throat and nearly choking him. No, his brother had his hands resting firmly on his hips as if he did this every god damn day and he was way too aware of each individual finger, thoroughly convinced that he could feel the edges of his fingerless gloves through the fabric of his clothes. When he’d finally forced the breath out through his nose in an audible rush of air, his muscles still tense, he figured he could at least trust his voice to remain steady long enough to verbalize what he thought was a plainly obvious inquiry.

 

“What the hell are you doing.” It came out in his usual lazy drawl, sure, but there was an edge to it that completely eradicated any inclination that he might have been detached. On top of which, it was less a question and more a demand that he stop immediately because shit people were starting to stare. Would they even run this thing with two people on one horse?? That was probably dangerous. Or maybe he was just hoping that they’d classify it as dangerous so Dirk would _get off_.

 

“You have excellent taste,” was his brother’s mild reply, simultaneously _not_ answering his question, and showing that he had no intention of removing himself before he was good and ready. When that didn’t seem to placate Dave, he continued. “She’s a very beautiful specimen – the one I choose to mount each visit, actually.”

 

Dave slowly lowered his gaze to the “horse” he was perched upon, currently pinned in place between a winding golden rod with chipping paint and the firm, toned chest of his brother. It was ivory, the bright white paint somehow having survived deterioration at the hands of countless snotting brats, with a flowing mane painstakingly carved to be floating off its neck, as if carried by the force of its movement…though it really just looked cheesy when the thing was stationary. The saddle was some eye-stabbing shade of pink, with reins of bright yellow roses, and it had several pink ribbons trailing from its hair and ass. In hindsight, he probably should have picked something a little less befitting a four year old girl in a princess costume, but he begrudgingly appreciated the irony of the moment.

 

Basically, Dirk was informing him that he had taken his horse.

 

“Whatever man, you can have your damn horse. Let me off.” He moved to escape, but found Dirk’s knees pressing into his thighs, and he swore the grip on his hips tightened. Yeah, he was still trapped. In his mind he replayed that smug line his brother was fond of reciting when he was trying to avoid facing his defeat:

 

_Can’t abscond, bro._

 

“Now, now, Dave. The ride is starting.”

 

While he immediately made to protest that no, the ride was not in fact starting and would not start until Dirk let his ass up and over to an empty horse, the sound died in his throat the moment he felt the thing give a great shudder and slowly come to life. The god awful circus music started sputtering out from the speakers, crackling and much too loud, and the horse they were both precariously sitting on started to slowly rise. With his forearms resting on his legs he made to grab the post in front of him, squeezing a little harder than necessary as if the exertion would fight off the rising heat in his face. At least none of the onlookers (or more importantly, Dirk) could catch a glimpse of his eyes. Neither of them said anything else, what with Dave feeling defeated and painfully conscious of just how messed up this looked right now, and Dirk…well, he had no clue what that asshole was thinking. He was probably just being pleased as pie with himself about his perceived victory or whatever. Another point to him for screwing with his brother’s mind.

 

Well, that is, until the spinning platform had reached its peak speed and their horse was completing its jerky imitation of a gallop as smoothly as the abused gears could manage. Just as he was ready to rest his forehead against the pole between his legs and squeeze his eyes shut to block out the blurring faces, he felt one of his brother’s hands move from his hip. It was a slow progression, his fingers gradually working themselves across to his stomach, the touch profound even through his clothing. He hesitated very briefly at his navel before starting lower and Dave breathed in so fast his lungs spasmed uncomfortably to keep up. He fought back the desire to cough and heave…as well as to jerk his head to stare at Dirk in disbelief.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me,” he hissed instead, his teeth clenched to keep himself from shivering, or otherwise giving away what was going on. “Because I am pretty sure that there are at least four wary adults with their eyes locked on this piece of shit contraption and _would you stop moving your hand for one god damn second_?” Dave was kind of proud of his ability to keep his voice straight even in a situation like this, when his stomach was participating in all sorts of crazy acrobatic pirouettes and his muscles felt so taut that he wouldn’t be surprised if several of them just chose to snap under the strain. For a moment he wanted to believe that Dirk was still sliding his hand lower because he hadn’t heard him over the clamor assaulting their ears, but he knew better than that. Apparently he hadn’t fucked with him enough just yet.

 

“Just don’t move your arms,” he murmured close to his ear, and he could feel his warm breath ghosting across his skin, sending conflicting signals of panic and electricity along his hypersensitive nerves. Dave swore he could hear the hint of an amused chuckle to his voice and he wanted so badly to punch him in the face, but suddenly there were fingers sliding past the waistband of his pants, past his boxers too, and he was squeezing that rod for dear life. “I trust you won’t let them see.”

 

All of his snark, all of his wit, all of his convoluted metaphors fled in the face of calloused fingertips sliding leisurely along the bare skin of his dick. The touches hardly did more than shoot fluttering pulses of tingling heat through his lower abdomen, but that combined with the terror of being seen was enough to send blood rushing between his legs fast enough to make his head spin and he struggled to maintain his posture, to keep himself from giving any noticeable sign of what was going on. He could practically feel the amusement radiating off the smug bastard at the responsiveness of his body, but all his prideful struggling failed to even delay the rapid hardening beneath unhurried fingers. Yeah, he was definitely mocking him with those casual touches, as if he didn’t currently have his hand shoved down his brother’s pants in the middle of the freaking mall on a sunday afternoon.

 

…Holy shit though, did he really have to be so good at this?

 

Despite the nature of his movements, he was extremely thorough, deliberate, expertly seeking out and manipulating sensitive spots like a pro. Soon Dave was fully erect in his hand and he couldn’t help but squirm at the awkwardness of still being confined to his pants. At the same time he doubted he’d be okay with Dirk just whipping it out in public…not that he was entirely okay with being fondled, either. He just found it rather hard to bitch about something that was completely blowing his mind – and it only got worse when he found himself cradled snuggly in the embrace of his leather encased palm. The little squeeze Dirk gave him was enough to force a breathy sigh from his lungs, bordering on something more audible but restrained by every ounce of self control he had. His knuckles were white and his arms were starting to get increasingly sore, but he hardly noticed the discomfort at this point. All of his focus was on the delicious friction, the combined sensations of skin and leather as Dirk began to slowly move his hand…and the fact that there were probably a few sets of eyes frequently glancing at them with not a damned clue as to what was going on. Something about that fact made his nerves about a hundred times more sensitive and it was getting increasingly difficult not to devolve into a total mess.

 

Dirk wasn’t helping matters, either. It was as if he didn’t need Dave to actually give the responses to tell that he _wanted_ to give them, and he still responded as if Dave had been moaning and bucking into his hand out of sheer desperation. He varied his grip and increased his pace as much as the tight space would allow, and Dave was immensely grateful for his shades; his eyes fell shut and he allowed his head to tilt back ever so slightly, his breath coming hard and shallow from his nose. His muscles twitched with the desire to thrust and move and _react_ but he swallowed it back, beat it down with nothing more than his willpower and the fear of being caught. Not that he could really call himself afraid at this point…the adrenaline pulsing through his veins spun the situation in a new light and all he could feel was the thrill, the defiance, the _look what I’m doing right in front of you but you can’t even see_ jesus Christ was it good. It was building rapidly, concentrated in his groin, and soon even the excitement of their environment didn’t matter.

 

The music didn’t matter, the stupid horse with its gay ass saddle didn’t matter, nothing mattered but Dirk’s hand pumping his cock and the pleasure reaching unbearable levels threatening to melt his nerve endings into a useless pile of _fuck yes_.

 

It hit him hard and fast and knocked the breath from his lungs, which he supposed was awfully convenient, as the only sound that escaped was a light, trembling moan laced so heavily with his passion that he couldn’t recognize it as his own flat voice. All the control in the world couldn’t prevent the shudders that followed the length of his spine with each wave of sensation that crashed into him, and he just hoped to some god somewhere that the little jerks of his hips went unnoticed by their audience. As it began to subside and he became more aware of his surroundings, he noticed Dirk had wrapped his arm around him to hold him close, and he could feel the subtle movement of lips on the back of his neck; more than enough to communicate just how into it his brother had managed to get as well.

 

But he was also becoming aware of the damp mess in his pants, and a cold weight settled hard in his stomach. Dirk continued to hold him, thumb brushing against his hip, and as if following his train of thought allowed the slightest hint of a smile against Dave’s skin. “It would seem that wearing black today was a wise decision,” he murmured, tone still infuriatingly casual. “So, are you finally starting to see the appeal of this extremely brilliant and elegant ride?”

 

That time Dave didn’t hesitate to deck him.


End file.
